Skip to main content

I may be a dumb fucker, but at least I'm honest.

So, despite that positive, proactive mood I mentioned the other day, I gave into some rude urges to be irresponsible last night.

My Rocky Horror cast was having a meeting, and I'd even told them I'd be there. And then I didn't go. It started as just "going in late" and ended up "not going at all".

This usually means something's up in my head. It's straight up avoidance, my favorite coping mechanism. Evasive action!

There's usually some chain reaction of worry leading up to this kind of behavior. Sometimes big things, sometimes little, but essentially I'm trying to avoid having to feel anxious about something.

I'm not sure what it was this time. I mean, I have a couple strong suspicions that I'm reluctant to admit to.

There's the ever worrying money situation. Haven't moved forward with that loan consolidation in weeks. What's weird though is yesterday I actually did make some progress with it. Maybe that made me more aware of my money woes and that set me up for whatever got me so bummed/anxious.

See, the whole thing definitely started much earlier in the day, though less obviously. I was feeling squirrely by mid-afternoon, and flipping through the internet and taking long naps not long after that. By the time I was supposed to head out, I was already feeling generally anxious.

I was, basically, in a bad place for some "bad news".

Here's the hard part--the part where I feel stupid: I think a miscommunication with the boy I've been seeing played a frustratingly large part in dicking up lastnight.

I'd thought we were going to hang last night, and I won't deny I was looking forward to it. Turns out, though, the boy has all kindsa big papers & tests goin' down this week and the next. So I wouldn't be seeing him last night. Or this weekend.

I can't deny this had some influence on things. And that's exactly where I start feeling stupid.

I really want to believe I'm past this kind of thing. To have such expectations and flirt with such "attachment" and set myself up for a let down. Letting my mood get so stuck on a boy by virtue of liking him that any action or gesture, however irrelevant to me, can hit me hard and deep, one way or the other.

In this case the 'let down' feelings ought to have been rather slight. I'd hoped to hang but as things turned out we couldn't, and while that sucks I'll get over it. Or should.

It really wasn't anybody's fault, either. A miscommunication is understandable; school assaulting one's freetime, also understandable.

Still, I felt bad in a way I'd come to look down on, and that pretty much made me feel worse. It was irrational, and stupid, to feel the way I did.

Other times, where even he admitted to flaking, gave some basis for feeling let down. This time, things got sucky by mistake, and I should have been able to get over it and move on. Apparently, I didn't want to.

I want to believe--and very badly, at that--I'm over this kind of emo crap. Rushing to like someone enough that boundaries are blurred and expectations raised and feelings can swing this way or that over relatively little.

It makes me feel so immature and weak. Maybe, too, it was the disillusionment: It's like this over-reaction undoes or devalues all the "work" and growing up I've done. Or believed I'd done. Whichever.

It eclipses feelings of progress--"There, you see? You are still as much of a fuckwad as ever!".

That's probably it, then. I felt worse about feeling bad about the thing with the boy than I actually felt about the thing with the boy itself. That would just about do it, in my fucked up lil head.

What's especially dumb is there are all kinds of ways I could, and supposedly have learned, to interrupt this chain of guilt & worry. But I didn't take action against it; I indulged in it.

One interesting afterthought about all this, though, is I seem to feel much less paralyzingly guilty about it. Normally once the worry and guilt kick in like it did last night, I feel so awful about it that I start to worry and guilt myself over it, too, and start a joyous cycle of avoidance and irresponsibility that can persist for quite a while (think, like, anything from days to weeks).

Trust me, I've honed avoidance to a fine art.

This time, though, I don't quite feel that kinda guilty about last night's fuckup. I mean, I feel bad about letting the cast down insofar as I may have let them down by not showing up. That mostly goes without saying.

But I think I've come a long way in forgiving myself for the stupid shit I do instead of bitterly hanging on to it. This isn't to be confused with excusing myself, mind you. I fucked up and I can own up to it. It was dumb and I can own up to it. Or try.

That in itself is a big step forward for me--a sign, perhaps, of having matured some afterall.


Other things that might interest you...

QP: Changes to come, I hope.

My grandmother passed away about 2 weeks ago. I hope to write about her more soon, but for this moment, I want to speak briefly about where I'm at overall: Her passing has led me to reevaluate aspects of my life because I'm realizing that the status quo amounts to just wasting my life away. (This is another "quick post," which means it's a short update that I likely didn't edit and revise quite as much as the more "thoughtful" pieces I aim for. I say this because I'm self-conscious and worry that you, my reader, will judge me!) I'm up in Boston and have today and tomorrow off, and I want to spend at least a portion of each day figuring out (some of) my life. I say this fully aware how often I've variously done so before: asserted a need for change, described how I was going to do it, made an attempt, then fallen off in the follow-through. I'm honestly not sure what to do about that, though. It frustrates me now just as much as eve

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo. In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June .  ( Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide. ) The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous fl

QP: Writing and D&D.

When creating a new character's backstory, one often dashes up a little backstory. A few sentences, a paragraph, or maybe a bulleted list. I wrote a 9-page short story. Oops. It was fun at least! (This is another "quick post," which means it's a short update that didn't receive the kind of editing or revision that other, more thoughtful posts would get. Don't worry about it if you're looking for something deeper, but feel free to read on if you don't mind!🧡) I'm really proud of what I wrote for this character. I put a lot of thought into it, and it's gotten good feedback, too. That said, I'm mostly enamored of the pleasure in writing and crafting it. But—I'm also obviously eager for positive feedback; I crave that shit. Haha. I may even post it here on the blog or on the socials! It's got me wondering about getting into writing again. Maybe fiction isn't so impossible for me? Maybe a little diligence is all I need?